“Xander?”
I lose myself for a moment, but the softness in her voice brings me back. “I actually want to take you someplace.”
“You mean the band?” she asks.
“No. Just you and me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve told you this a few times.”
“I won’t talk about anything you don’t want to. Just come with me. I promise it’s a place you’ll love.”
She wavers and takes a deep breath. “Fine. But only because I’m dressed and have nothing else to do. And you’re buying me a muffin first.”
I laugh. “Ah. I can definitely do that.”
• • •
Last night another wall came down between us, and although Ivy is still guarded, she actually seems to be warming up to me. My plan was to talk to her after I took her out for the day, but now that I’ve promised not to talk about the past, I’ll just have to take the conversations as they come. I already believe she’s who I need, but I just need to convince her I’m who she needs. I wanted to take her someplace I know we’ll both enjoy.
The sign reads: OHIO HISTORICAL MARKER—BIRTHPLACE OF ROCK ’N’ ROLL. From afar, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame building is truly stunning. Ivy’s face lights up when she sees it.
Pointing to it, she says, “Look, Xander, it looks like the pictures of the Louvre you sent me.”
And it does. The building is made up of geometric shapes resembling triangles that seem to shadow the lake. And although Ivy’s enthusiasm puts the biggest smile on my face, it’s the sound of her voice that melts my heart—the way she just said, “Look, Xander.”
As we exit the cab I know without a doubt . . . I’m still in love with this girl. And nothing can sour my mood. We enter the building. “Where to first?” I ask her.
She’s studying the map and points to a small red dot. “Right here.”
I laugh. “Could you be more specific?”
“The Beatles exhibit. I really want to see John Lennon’s acoustic guitar.”
“The Beatles it is.” I take her hand without thinking and lead her to the exhibit she selected.
Morning stretches into afternoon as we pass from Metallica to the Rolling Stones memorabilia. We talk about each artifact, spending the most time in the Jimi Hendrix forum.
When we get to the Janis Joplin area, Ivy studies the jewelry pieces on display. I lean against the glass and just watch her eyes twinkle. “Hey, guess what River gave Dahlia as a wedding present.”
She looks up at me and bites her lip. “What?”
The heat I’ve felt between us all day—the ease of two people having a great time—seems to flare. “The gold bangles that Grandpa gave Grandma. Remember, the ones Janis wore all the time and gave to my grandfather when she found out Grandma was mad at him.”
“I remember them. That was a really sweet gift.”
For a moment sadness crosses her features, but it quickly passes.
“Let’s move on. The Who or Michael Jackson?” I ask.
“You know, I’m pretty tired. Late night, early morning. What do you say we call it a day?”
“Sure,” I say, a little disappointed that our day is already ending. “Let’s just slip in the movie theater and watch a few minutes of Dick Clark’s American Bandstand.”
She raises an eyebrow.“Come on, you have to admit it. Best damn television idea second to none. It was reality TV before reality TV.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Five minutes.”
Boarding the escalator, we head to the second floor and enter the dark theater. We take seats near the back and watch as eager teenagers try to get the attention of a very young Dick Clark. We watch the show and I lean closer toward her. She stays put and never glances over toward me. I rest my hand on the arm of the chair and force my eyes to the screen. My breathing takes effort and I hear my own heart pounding. Heat rushes through me and my boldness comes alive in the darkness.
“Ivy,” I whisper.
She swallows and meets my gaze. “Shh . . .”
The way she turns is slow and sensual and it completely steals my breath away. I lean back a little in my chair and give her another glance. I feel like a kid again in the movie theater, wanting to make out with my girl, and the tent in the middle of my jeans is a dead giveaway. What the hell is wrong with me? I reach over and drop my hand to the bare skin of her leg. She stiffens.
“Ivy,” I whisper again.
She turns her head and I focus on her face, her eyes. I stare at her lips. I imagine sliding my tongue down the smooth curve of her arm and shoulder. I sit here as long as I can until I can’t take another minute of wanting her. I lean over and pull her face toward mine. I don’t think she’s breathing. I stop short of her lips and just hold her close to me. I feel the rush of adrenaline as my need for her spikes with every passing second.
Then, just as I brush my lips over hers, she stands up. “I can’t. Please don’t do that again. I want to be your friend, but that’s all,” she says and rushes out of the theater. I run after her, but before I can catch her, she hops in a cab and is gone. And just like that, so is our perfect day.
CHAPTER 8
Radioactive
After the Cleveland show the dynamics of the bus changed—I had a lot of work to get done. Ivy hadn’t committed to staying with the band after the tour, and I doubted she would, so I was putting some feelers out trying to see who might be available. And the guys’ social lives were running rampant. Not only did Nix invite Phoebe to join him for the rest of the tour, but Leif seemed to be on a mission to get laid in every city as much as possible. This often meant a stowaway on board from one stop to the next. It also meant I ended up staying out of the galley as much as possible. Nix and Phoebe aren’t exactly quiet and Leif doesn’t care who hears.
Spending more time in the lounges hasn’t been all that bad, because surprisingly, Ivy seems to be doing the same. She wasn’t kidding about wanting to be friends. At some times it’s exhilarating and at others it’s exasperating, but at least we’re spending time together . . . We talk about nothing that matters, we eat together, we play video games, and even watch TV, but now we never do any of these things alone. Garrett is always with us, and the minute he leaves so does she—my guess is the friends thing is just as hard for her as for me, because while most of the hostility between us seems to have eased, the tension hasn’t.
Unfortunately something else has changed as well—Ivy can no longer go out without being recognized. The first few weeks with her trademark locks cut shorter, plus having been out of the limelight for almost a year, we were able to move around each city easily. But after the Detroit show, her performance was so dynamic that it went viral. Ivy has gotten in the habit of singing a cover at each performance, and that night’s cover was “I Knew You Were Trouble.” Her rave-y, edgy performance unhinged the audience and they went crazy. The way she sang that particular song made it come alive. She turned it into her own and I f**king loved it. It was catchy in her key and she gave it a rhythm and flow that rocked the audience. It exploded all over the Internet, and overnight the Wilde Ones became Ivy’s band and Ivy was being sought out. The next three stops after that we all stayed on the bus, and tonight is no different.
I’d fallen asleep early with my headphones on, and another f**king dream woke me up. My dreams come more and more frequently lately. For some reason my dad is weighing heavy on my mind during this tour. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he wanted this life and I wonder why he did when he had a family or if it’s because I’ve started to think about what kind of life I could have while doing this. Getting out of bed, I throw a shirt on and head to the front lounge to grab a bottle of water, and as I do, I hear voices and laughter from the back lounge. Heading that way, I take a whiff of the air and the smell of cigar smoke has me more than curious as to what’s going on.
Pausing in the doorway of the back lounge, I take in the scene. Everyone is sitting together and playing cards. Garrett is leaning back in a metal folding chair holding a drink in his hand with a cigar resting over the edge of a bowl. Nix is reclining comfortably in one of the club chairs tapping one hand on the table while holding his cards in the other. Ivy, sitting in the other club chair, is wearing black sleep pants with some print all over them and a white tank top. Again she’s wearing no makeup and has her hair pulled back—she looks so much like she did when she was eighteen. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Even when she throws her cards on the table with a disgusted look on her face she’s still sexy as f**k. Leif glances around the circle with a huge-ass grin on his face and fans his cards out almost methodically before laying them down. “Full house, aces high,” he says and pulls the pile of guitar picks his way.
Garrett slams his drink down. “I’m out fifty bucks, thanks to your sorry ass. I think you’re cheating.”
Leif just laughs at him and continues to rake in the pot. Phoebe throws her cards in and gets up from her chair to sit on Nix’s lap. She’s an attractive girl—average height, maybe a little shorter than Ivy, with chin-length dark hair. Her skin tone is very close to Nix’s. I’d guess that she’s either Italian or Hispanic.
I stand silent in the doorway, continuing to watch them, but mostly watching Ivy. She pulls her legs up in the chair and wraps her arms around her knees. When I cover my mouth to stifle a yawn, she glances my way. A small smile forms on her lips, and her eyes sweep over me before they lock on mine. I grin at her and button up my shirt before joining the group. She drops her eyes and stretches her legs out over the empty chair next to her. I wonder what she’s thinking when she looks at me like that and why when I catch her doing it she always looks away.
Garrett looks up. “Hey, man, glad you decided to wake up. Welcome to the party.”
He looks like such a clown gripping that cigar between his teeth and talking around it. He motions to the chair Ivy has her legs on. “Perfect timing. We need another. Phoebe quit playing and I’m about to unless my luck turns.” He takes a puff on his cigar and coughs a little. I bite back the laughter. Phoebe’s not happy as the cigar smoke wafts her way. She waves it out of her face and makes an exaggerated choking noise before resting her head against Nix’s shoulder.
“John’s going to beat your ass for smoking in here,” I scold him, more mocking than serious, although John just might do that.
He sets his cigar back down in the bowl. “Then I’ll have to explain to him that a fine cigar is just like a woman. If you don’t light it up at the right time and suck on it with a certain ferverence, it’ll go out on you.” He waves his arms to the right, where the window blinds are pulled up. “And besides, I opened all the windows.”
Everyone laughs, even Ivy. I look around at the glasses on the table and I know they’ve all been hitting the wine pretty hard. Glancing sideways, I notice there are at least four empty bottles in the sink of the bar area and another open one on the small counter.
Nix looks at Garrett dumbfounded. “Ferverence? Is that even a word and where the hell did you pick it up? Wheel of Fortune? Jeopardy!? Either way, you’re watching too much f**king TV.”
I don’t say anything to that. I just throw two twenties on the table. “Deal me in.”
Nix reaches around Phoebe to take my money and shoves a bunch of picks my way and I notice the glass in front of him has an amber-colored liquid in it—definitely not wine.
“And I’ll have what you’re drinking,” I tell him.
I glance down at Ivy’s legs stretched across the chair. Her feet are bare and her nails are painted red. “May I?” I ask. My gaze fastens on hers. I wait for her response.